Lord Voldemort's Vision
by JPH
Summary: What Voldemort saw in the snapshot after attempting to kill Harry in the Forest


Lord Voldemort's Vision

He waited in silence, his head bowed, his thin, white fingers caressing the Elder Wand's smooth profile. Out of the corner of his eye, the glittering of Nagini's great protective sphere sparkled against the leaf-strewn Forest floor, upon which his followers stood at various points around him. Two of them would be back soon, bringing the enemy with them.

The smell of the Forest filled his slits for nostrils. It smelt the same as it had always done: musty, organic, full of life. He could hear the hooting and twittering of innocent birds overhead, apparently unaware that murder was about to take place in their midst. The only other sound came from behind: half-hearted writhing and rustling as Hagrid attempted to break free from his unbinding restraints. Poor Hagrid ... Tom had framed him fifty-five years ago and he did it again now ... Hagrid was no less helpless now than he was then.

And then footsteps came, bringing the sound of crunching leaves with them: Dolohov and Yaxley had returned, though as their figures loomed from the misty darkness, Tom could tell something was wrong. There was no accompanying noise of struggling from a teenage boy and Tom could definitely sense only two figures. He looked up in spite of himself and, sure enough, only two fearful faces looked into his own.

'No sign of him, my Lord,' said Dolohov.

Tom said nothing, kept his expression indifferent. Anxious muttering had broken out behind him, but he ignored it.

'My Lord –'

He silenced Bellatrix calmly with a raised hand. He could not help but feel disappointed, pitiful; the poor boy was a coward ... now he, Tom, would have to re-enter the Hogwarts front, against his will, and blast away those who continued to shield Potter from him.

'I was, it seems ... mistaken,' said Tom, more to himself than anyone else.

'You weren't.'

Tom raised his head again sharply, his eyes narrowing to focus on something in the middle distance. The boy had come after all, though Tom had not heard or seen him; yet here he was, looking rough, his trousers ripped, his round glasses murky, his black hair matted with dirt and dust.

Behind Tom, the giants bellowed and he sensed the Death Eaters rise from behind him.

'HARRY! NO!' shouted Hagrid. 'NO! NO! HARRY, WHAT'RE YEH –?'

'QUIET!' Rowle called and Hagrid was silenced again.

Tom's heart rate stepped up a notch. He couldn't hold back the excitement that rose within him like a snake, but he mustn't get complacent ... the job wasn't completed yet. He tilted his head slightly, gazing into those green, defiant eyes.

'Harry Potter,' he whispered. 'The boy who lived.'

He paused before raising his wand, directing it instinctively at the boy's chest. He felt a sense of satisfaction: his plan had worked, the world was now his. He was completely invincible with the Elder Wand, and the idea of his remaining Horcrux being destroyed now was laughable –

'_AVADA KEDAVRA!'_

The flash of green light left his wand, but the curse had barely scratched the surface of its target when Tom was thrown backwards with his own scream of anguish and he blacked out.

Tom gasped awake, his eyes snapping open; however, there was nothing for them to focus on, since he was surrounded by total blackness. His breathing was heavy and he did his best to calm himself as his extremities seemed to return from numbness, pressing upon some form of floor, which, for all his eyes could judge, may not be in existence at all. He knew he was lying down; it felt like he had been there, in the black nothingness, for hours, maybe days: he was aching all over.

Tom had never approved the position of lying on his front and, with an enormous effort, his pushed himself up, half-expecting his hands to simply sink straight through the floor. But there was no telling what was around him and he found it difficult to balance.

He could sense that he wasn't alone; sense that someone, or something, was here with him. He thought he could hear the occasional rustle of wind. Albeit it being completely black, instinct was telling him he could see something out the corner of his eye, but every time he turned his head, only more darkness met his sight.

His heart bounded and his breathing returned to its quickened rate. He stretched out his arms but they had barely extended a foot when his hands pressed against a wall that he couldn't see and, after turning on the spot, he alarmingly discovered that he was totally encased in a minute room. Things were whispering to him ... chilling wind sent shivers down his spine – he kept turning on the spot, heart in his mouth, as the things appeared to swirl all around him, breathing down his neck –

'H – help!' he shouted desperately, and silence fell.

'Help?'

Tom jumped out of his skin at the voice but before he could answer, he was distracted by the changing surroundings: the palest, silvery light, which was barely helpful to Tom's sight, rather pathetically illuminated the room. Tom could now just make out two doors, on opposite walls, which both had smooth brass handles. The voice, he was sure, had come from in front of him, from behind one of the two doors.

'_Help?'_ the familiar voice repeated. 'Surely you're not afraid, Tom?'

'Who's there?' Tom called, trying to sound braver than he felt. His voice wasn't high and cold, but mellow; he knew, in an instant, that he was in his younger self's body, the body he'd had before the time he'd walked the road of invincibility.

'Why do you ask, Tom? You know precisely who it is.'

Tom swallowed, staring at the door.

'Dumbledore?' he whispered. He could almost picture the stern-looking face of his old teacher, the blue eyes leering though him. 'How is it you are here?'

'I might enquire the same thing – after all, it is very much your position that matters now, as opposed to mine. What brings you here?'

Tom opened his mouth, but the answer wasn't there yet. How _had_ he got here? He strained his memory, in which he knew there had been another place, another whole situation. He remembered feeling pain, inward, violent pain that he had experienced on more than one occasion. Whenever he had experienced that pain, there had always been the same person there, the cause of it whenever Tom had tried to kill him –

'The boy – the Potter boy,' muttered Tom, and the name stung his tongue.

'Ah, I thought that may be the case,' came Dumbledore's almost smug voice. 'Spill the beans, Tom, I'd be fascinated to know what happened between yourself and our young Potter friend.'

'I – he came. Into the Forest, for me to kill him. The boy is dead, and as soon as I get out of here –'

'I'm afraid I must interrupt you there, Tom, before you say something _really_ foolish. Calm yourself, take a step back and tell me what happened.'

Tom hesitated, staring at the black door.

'There was a battle over the school. Many lives were lost, Dumbledore, and we both know how hard you worked to keep the students safe,' Tom smirked.

'I wouldn't make jibes like that if I were you, Tom, particularly in your present situation. Continue.'

Tom tried to keep the sneer from his voice as he went on.

'I gave the warning. I told Potter I would wait for an hour in the Forest. But I wasn't quite ready. I had to meet with Severus, to acquire something of his that I –'

'Severus?' said Dumbledore sharply. 'What of him?'

'The Elder Wand, Dumbledore. The wand that you pitifully attempted to hide from me. I knew Severus was trustworthy and faithful, but that was his greatest service of all.'

'Trustworthy,' murmured Dumbledore, 'and faithful. At least we agree on one thing Tom, though of course, for opposite reasons.'

Tom could make neither head nor tail of Dumbledore's answer, so ploughed on, wanting the old man to hear of his great plans and triumphs.

'I took possession of the Elder Wand and returned to the Forest to wait; I knew the foolish Potter boy would come ... anything to save his dear friends from dying. And I killed him there and then ... though I am not sure what is happening now.'

'Of course you don't,' said Dumbledore almost scathingly. 'You don't have the first clue about what is happening now, because you are scared and don't understand.'

'How – how dare you?' spat Tom. 'Me, scared? I, Lord Voldemort, not scared enough to trample over whoever I need to to get whatever I want?'

'Perhaps others' deaths don't scare you, but you cannot deny that the idea of your death scares you more than anything,' said Dumbledore. 'I should warn you, Tom, that no more shall be harmed if you choose to return to fight ... you cannot run away from death forever ... and if you are naive enough to believe that Harry has truly gone, then –'

'_I killed Potter!_ I killed him as I had you killed, Dumbledore!'

'And yet, here I am now, talking to you; death is nothing more than being run over by a shadow and, after all, shadows cannot harm you. Should you choose to return, you will only face more pain and disappointment ... you have your chance, now, to open the door in front of you and follow me, where we will depart as equals, with no chance of further childish decisions.'

A silence unfurled and Tom listened to it, his mind racing. He was afraid of the claims Dumbledore was making, and he had to admit, the idea of his death frightened him more than anything he had faced.

'Tom, come. It is not so hard to die as you may think, but – Tom?'

But Tom had made his decision. There was no way he was going to choose to die; he wrenched the brass handle of the door behind him and it flew open. Wind engulfed him and he jumped out the black capsule, rushing downwards through the darkness, before hitting the bed of leaves that was the Forest floor.


End file.
